


it’s not him (let’s not die again)

by theheartofthekoko



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, only mentioned not in-scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartofthekoko/pseuds/theheartofthekoko
Summary: “Were you and your Penny friends?” he asked.Quentin turned away and flung his arm over his face with a sigh.“No, not really,” he replied.“We were,” Penny said, interrupting the stilted silence. “Me and Quentin, I mean.”“Really?”Quentin asked. “How did that happen?”“He punched me in the face.”or: Penny23 and Quentin were friends before he became the Beast, and everything is complicated except when it's not at all.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, William "Penny" Adiyodi & Quentin Coldwater
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	it’s not him (let’s not die again)

Seeing Julia again had been like a balm to his soul. He’d seen her and felt real true joy for the first time since she’d lain dead at his feet. The moment was perfect, but then she’d pushed him away, and it wasn’t even his Julia. She didn’t smile quite the same, didn’t touch him the same, didn’t love him the same. It almost felt like losing her all over again. 

Seeing Quentin was worse. He’d spent years watching his Quentin walk around dead, a sadistic mannequin with everything that made him good and kind and _Quentin_ scooped out. This new Quentin wasn’t his, just like Julia, but he could see the edges of what used to be his friend and he ached. The world had been kinder to this Quentin then it had ever been to his own. This one had been given a chance to live. His Quentin would give him so much shit just for thinking it. 

Penny had resented him, always buzzing around when all he’d wanted to do was be alone with Julia. So, he’d been an asshole, and Quentin had born it with silent resignation that just pissed Penny off even more. Rinse and repeat, until he’d said something one step too far—he couldn’t even remember what it was anymore—and Quentin had punched him. Hard. 

Penny was furious, spitting and raging against Quentin’s smug delight and Julia’s placation as his eye turned purple, then yellow, then green. He’d punched the kid right back, until it was an all-out brawl, magic completely forgotten. Penny was stronger, but Quentin had fought dirty, kicking him in the groin and pulling his hair hard enough to make tears spring involuntarily from his eyes. They might never have stopped, but Julia had blasted an immobilizing spell there way that she really shouldn’t have known yet. 

Julia was yelling at them, and Quentin was too frantic to maintain the shielding on his mind. Penny drowned in his panic, over losing his only friend to some asshole of a guy and how he really shouldn’t have done that and how he’d be alone again, and why did he always end up alone, what the fuck was wrong with him that he always ended up—Julia dropped her spell and Quentin fled. Penny stayed on the ground, panting as Julia chastised him. She stormed off, probably to go find Quentin to scold him, too. Penny decidedly didn’t care. He _didn’t._

This Quentin was _wrong._ He was slumped in on himself, as not-his-Julia just stood by and watched him disappearing right before her eyes. He didn’t understand what had happened to them. What had the world done to make a Julia that didn’t chase after her Quentin and a Quentin that didn’t contain that ember of burning life that was always behind his eyes? These weren’t his people. They just weren’t. 

But then the Monster masquerading around As Eliot—and wasn’t that a new and exciting kind of fucked up—wrapped his hands around Quentin’s throat and _there he was._ His eyes positively burned with rage as he taunted the Monster. Julia stood by enraptured, terrified, dying to help. Penny almost felt the people he’d missed there around their edges, and wasn’t sure if he was glad of it, or horrified. 

The Monster threw Quentin to the ground and disappeared on the spot. Julia got to his side before Penny did and pulled him into a sitting position as Penny worried uselessly beside them. 

“What the hell was that, Q?” Julia asked, cradling the back of his neck in the palm of her hand. 

“He can’t die, Jules,” he said. “He just—”

When Quentin cried, Penny left. These weren’t his people. They couldn’t be. His people had died by his Quentin’s own hands. Penny was alone. He disappeared behind the first door he found, closed it, and sighed. He got a few feet into someone’s bedroom before slumping onto the floor, head against the wall. 

Quentin found him by accident a few minutes later. He didn’t seem to notice Penny, walked right past him, hand cradling his neck where vivid purple bruises were already forming. He dropped down onto the bed like his strings had been cut. Penny realized he was still crying. 

“Hey,” Penny said. 

Quentin jerked up off the bed, eyes wide and breathing instantly labored, until he caught sight of Penny. He dropped back onto the bed, clutched his stomach tight as he looked down at his shoes. 

“Hey,” he replied, voice ragged from crying. 

Neither of them said anything. Quentin wouldn’t look up from his feet. Penny wanted to go home, only this was his home now, damn it all. 

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Penny demanded. 

Quentin’s head jerked up, eyes angry and _there he was._ Penny’s gut wrenched. 

“What’s it to you?” Quentin demanded, eyes steely and defensive. 

Penny didn’t have an answer. They weren’t friends, him and this Quentin. They’d hardly said two words to each other, and frankly, Penny wanted to keep it that way. So, he said nothing. Quentin’s eyes dimmed and shuttered. He flopped onto his back to stare listlessly at the ceiling. 

Penny watched him in silence. He looked dead, as if everything had been sucked out of him and all that was left was the shell of who he’d once been, a shell of who Penny used to know. It reminded him far too much of the Beast. He sighed, got up off the floor, shoved Quentin onto the other side of the bed and laid down next to him. 

They were both still quiet, but when Penny glanced over at Quentin, it was to find incredulous eyes staring right back. 

“Were you and your Penny friends?” he asked. 

Quentin turned away and flung his arm over his face with a sigh. 

“No, not really,” he replied. 

Penny wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He’d known that Julia hadn’t gone to Brakebills this time around but, it still felt wrong somehow, that they’d never worked past their bullshit to become friends. For him, it was always the three of them: Penny, Julia, and Quentin. He couldn’t imagine what his counterpart’s life had been like without them, couldn’t image lasting this long without them. Although, he hadn’t, had he? 

“We were,” Penny said, interrupting the stilted silence. “Me and Quentin, I mean.” 

_“Really?”_ Quentin asked. “How did that happen?” 

Penny tried not to be insulted by the incredulity in his voice but didn’t succeed. 

“He punched me in the face.” 

It took one look at Quentin’s gobsmacked expression, eyes wide and mouth hanging open for Penny to start laughing. He couldn’t stop—shoulders shaking, voice a little too loud. Quentin was laughing too, beside him, tinted with hysteria, eyes manic. Then, Quentin was crying, but they were both still laughing. Penny couldn’t stop. He slung his arm around Quentin’s shoulder like he used to. Quentin’s face ended up smushed into his side, muffling whatever noises he was making. Penny couldn’t tell if he was still crying or not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

“I’m in love with him,” Quentin said after a timeless second. 

“With who?” Penny asked, dubious. “Other me?” 

“No!” he replied, smacking Penny hard on the chest. “Eliot.” 

And suddenly everything made a morbid sort of sense, didn’t it? Quentin’s drawn face, his empty eyes, that scene in the kitchen. He was in love. With _Eliot_. 

“Fuck,” Penny said. 

“Yeah.” 

They stayed like that for a long time, but eventually the Monster found Quentin, and everything started up again. 

Penny was having more and more trouble keeping this Quentin apart from his own in his mind. He tried. Really, he did. His Quentin wasn’t replaceable, and he didn’t share any of the history, the friendship he’d had with the other one. But the problem started and ended when he realized how alone this Quentin was. Everyone else had stepped back, withdrawn from him rather than face the Monster masquerading as their friend. Penny didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with them all, wrong with Julia, but Quentin was always alone with the Monster, and Penny couldn’t stop hearing it: _I’m in love with him._ He couldn’t stop hearing Quentin’s laughter turn to sobs, so he did the only thing he could do. He stayed. 

He watched the Monster manhandle Quentin, watched Quentin cling to him and push him away in turn, helped plan and scheme to get Eliot back because Quentin was in love with him, and Quentin would never stop. Not when he cared about someone. He would get Eliot back, or die trying, and Penny wouldn’t go through that again, couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. 

Penny woke one night to someone climbing into his bed. He shifted to try to make out the form in the semi-darkness, tensing when he couldn’t. 

“Hey.” 

And oh, it was just Quentin. He relaxed back into the mattress. 

“Hey.” 

“So, what happened after I punched you in the face?” he asked. 

“I punched you back.” 

Quentin laughed, and Penny smiled, pleased. 

“And then we magically bonded over some macho bullshit?” Quentin asked. 

“No,” Penny said, still smiling. “Then I decided you weren’t such a useless nerd-boy, and you realized I was the coolest person you’d ever met.” 

Quentin laughed again, open and surprised. 

“Bullshit.” 

Penny laughed but didn’t say any more even as Quentin whined and wheedled incessantly for answers. He laid next to him and thought of _his_ Quentin. He’d been so defensive at first. Penny hadn’t complained about hanging out with him along with Julia. He’d included him in conversation, only to get mulish one-word answers. It didn’t bother Penny. He was the king of brusque when he wanted to be, but Quentin wouldn’t budge. He didn’t like Penny and trusted him even less. 

It all came to a head when they went out to drinks, just the three of them. Penny had gone to the bar, only to find Quentin sitting at a booth alone, already drinking something fruity with an umbrella in it. 

“Where’s Julia?” he asked, sliding onto the bench across from him. 

“I thought she was coming with you?” Quentin asked. 

Penny dug his phone out of his pocket, only to find a voicemail from her. He listened to it, mouth quirking up at the corners as he listened to her ramble on about a project she needed to work on that he knew for a fact wasn’t due for another two weeks. She was so devious. Penny thought he might grow to love her, and soon if she kept this up. 

“Looks like it’s just us,” Penny said. 

Quentin’s eyes went shifty like a cornered animal. Penny decided not to make any sudden movements, just in case. 

“Maybe we should just go,” he said quietly. 

“At least finish your drink,” Penny replied, flagging down the bartender to order a beer. 

One drink turned into two, to three, to four. Penny wasn’t sure what had happened after that. The next thing he was aware of was waking up with the hangover of all hangovers in the physical kid’s cottage wearing a pair of Quentin’s pajamas that were much too tight on him with Quentin curled around him like an octopus. They must be in his room, based on the Fillory books lined up perfectly on the bookshelf. Penny closed his eyes, determined to forget all of this until he’d gotten a few more hours of sleep. 

But then there was a quiet giggle. He sat up quickly, sending Quentin flailing off the side of his bed. Julia was standing in the doorway, eyes sparkling as she laughed at them. 

“What have you two been up to?” she asked with a sly wink. 

Penny groaned. He grabbed a pillow and threw it at her, then grabbed another to press over his face. 

“Quiet,” he said, voice muffled. “Sleeping.” 

Quentin moaned from the floor. Penny flung an arm to the side to try to help him up without opening his eyes. His hand was clasped, and someone, presumably Quentin, flopped back onto the bed. Julia laughed again, making them both whine in unison. 

Everything was quiet until Julia pushed Penny to the side so she could slide into the bed between them. 

“You can only stay in here if you’re going to wallow,” Quentin said. “This is hangover central—no chipper people allowed.” 

“I’ll be good,” Julia said, laugh belaying her words. 

Penny wrapped his arm around her, fingers brushing Quentin’s arm on her other side. He drifted back to sleep. 

Now, this other Quentin seemed to be doing the same. His wheedling had dwindled and stopped. All Penny could hear from his side of the bed was steady breathing. He decided to let him rest. Who knew when the Monster would be back? Quentin should get all the rest he could while it was possible. 

As the days passed, Penny found himself caring for this Quentin and Julia. They’d fractured rather spectacularly in ways that made them foreign to Penny. But then Quentin would laugh at something he’d said, or Julia would make an off-hand comment about them all having lunch and he’d feel like he could almost see what they could be. They weren’t his, no. But they could be something good still—something new. 

He threw himself into helping with the Eliot situation, helping Julia with her magic, and getting this fucked up timeline fixed as much as possible. So, in the end, when Julia had her magic back, and Quentin had his Eliot back, Penny opened the doorway to the mirror realm and followed them in. No way in hell was he letting Quentin out of his sight until all of this was over. 

Penny should have been surprised when Everett showed up, but he wasn’t. Everything had gone too smoothly. Something was bound to happen. Penny saw the resigned slump of Quentin’s shoulders straighten, saw the defeat in his eyes become determined and thought of his Quentin. His Quentin who’d whispered in hushed words of hospitalization, of too many pills, of depression becoming resolve in the face of self-destruction. He saw all this in the Quentin before him and acted. 

He couldn’t lose him again—not again. So, he grabbed Alice’s wrist, lunged for Quentin’s hand before he could do whatever stupid thing he was planning and teleported them all right the fuck out of there. 

In the aftermath, Quentin was furious. Penny stood in the wake of his words, of his firsts even, and stayed firm. He was the port in a storm, and he wouldn’t apologize for not wanting to lose another Quentin to the world. 

“What the fuck are we going to do now?” Quentin demanded, waving around the bottle containing the monster in uncontained rage. 

Penny looked over at where Eliot was asleep in the hospital bed with Margo curled up by his side, at Julia who looked wan and small with her arms wrapped around herself, at Alice who looked seconds from bolting, and back at Quentin whose rage was failing to mask the panic he was feeling. 

“I don’t know,” Penny said, jaw firm. “But I’d rather figure it out with you alive then have it fixed by having you dead.” 

At that, Julia let out a sob and rushed to throw her arms around her best friend. Quentin held on just as tight, tension bleeding out of him as he melted into her. Penny wanted to hug them both, but didn’t. He just watched them hold each other and thought fondly of his own Julia and Quentin. 

He didn’t know what they’d do, didn’t know how to handle these people who weren’t quite his, but they’d figure it out, _he’d_ figure it out. And they’d do it together. 


End file.
